Wistful Dreams
by LionessoftheEast
Summary: The residents of the Potter cottage, plus Sirius, have a picnic, and somewhere, a little boy sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs is watching them.


Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter, nor any characters or plots

* * *

For the weekly prompt on Get it Write

* * *

The day was pure bliss. The sun was high in the sky, its rays shining down upon the small English town. Tudor cottages lined the narrow streets, brightly painted cars winding their way through private gardens filled with flowers and swingsets. The day was clear and bright, and children dashed across the pleasantly warm asphalt to join their friends and families. People sat in the sunshine, laughing and talking about anything but the disconcerting murders that had taken place in the last year.

The cheery mood extended all the way to the small cottage at the very end of a dead-end street. Flowers lined its walk, bright purple lilies and golden marigolds swaying softly in the breeze. However, to the passerby, this area was the ugly scar of the neighborhood- an old, abandoned lot that no one ever seemed to try to sell.

Despite this fact, to the man who walked down the street now, the cottage looked exactly like it really was- a pleasant little house with flowers lining the sidewalk. Smiling, he stepped up to the door, and, finding that it was open, walked inside.

He smiled at the comfortable chaos of the cottage's inside. The stacked cereal boxes in the open cupboard and the pile of old quilts hastily thrown across the couch made the house seemed very lived in. The man continued out the back door, smiling wider at this scene.

In the small back garden, in a patch of brilliantly green grass, sat three people on a picnic blanket. The tallest, a man, had unruly black hair that he continued to ruffle with his hand. He had hazel eyes that made it look like he was always happy, framed by rectangular glasses. His arm was wrapped around a woman with thick, long, auburn hair and green eyes, currently fastened upon a baby in her own arms.

The child looked more like his father than mother, with the same unruly hair, but his emerald eyes glinted in the exact same way his mother did. As the breeze tousled the little boy's hair, his clean, pale forehead was visible, devoid of any marks.

The black haired man stood up as the first man stepped out, waving at him with a laugh. "Oi, Padfoot! You brought the butterbeer?"

"Yeah, yeah, Prongs. I even forgot the firewhiskey, per Lilyflower's request."

The auburn haired woman, Lily, rolled her eyes. "You can live without alcohol for an afternoon, Sirius. Besides, we can't corrupt Harry when he's barely a year old."

"Haven't we already?" the black haired man said, smirking.

"Yes, James. Honestly, Quidditch and pranks and he can't even say the word properly. But that's not the point."

Baby Harry gave a nearly toothless grin. "Kiddich!"

All three adults let out a laugh, and Lily popped open a butterbeer. "I told you."

James rolled his eyes and kissed her on the cheek.

"PDA in front of the prongslet," Sirius stage whispered, grinning delightedly when the two parents turned to mock glare at him.

"I swear, Sirius, you never stopped being eleven," Lily said, grinning.

"Anyway, why is he _the _prongslet?" James asked, poking him in the shoulder. "Is he a different species or something?"

"Sure," Sirius replied. "And I don't know, I can't just call him prongslet. What if there's a second prongslet? Then do we have prongslet one and prongslet two?"

"You seem to have put a lot of thought into this," Lily noted.

"Was it worth it?" he said, grinning coyly.

"No, Sirius. Harry's not going to have a sibling," she said with a sigh.

James took another sip of his butterbeer. "If it's a girl couldn't we call her flowerlet?"

"Doesn't have the same ring to it," Sirius said with a shrug. "Besides, we could call Harry flowerlet too. Flowers are boy and girl things. Don't be sexist."

"Rich, coming from you," James muttered into his shoulder, turning to tickle Harry on the stomach. The little boy giggled before slapping his hand away.

"Is there anyone remotely sane around here? Where are Remus, Pete, and Marlene?" Lily flicked a stray strand of red hair out of her eyes.

"Moony's undercover somewhere, Pete's in hiding like you, and Mar's checking up on her mum," Sirius replied, dodging a petal thrown by James. "So, no."

"Harry's sane," James added.

"The sentences thing again," Lily replied, smirking at her husband.

"I bet he can," he said, turning to the child.

"Twenty galleons."

Lily turned to glare at Sirius.

"What?" he cried. "I've lost a bet to Mar; she bet I couldn't put the groceries away, and I'm broke!"

"Not a chance, Padfoot," she said flippantly, shaking a finger at him. James, meanwhile, was cooing to his son.

"Go on, say it. Many words. Many many words. C'mon, buddy."

"How does your crib work, huh?" Lily cut in.

Harry, wide-eyed, looking at the three adults staring back at him. "Spoon," he said decisively, before rolling onto his back, giggling madly.

For a moment, Lily, James, and Sirius all stared at the insane little boy laughing in front of them.

"Yup," Padfoot said. "We've definitely corrupted him."

A laugh gurgled it's way out of Lily's mouth, and soon she was gasping for breath and her body shook with giggles. James and Sirius were next, until all four picnic-goers were laughing as hard as they ever had, under the bright summer sun with the comfortable breeze, not a cloud in the sky.

It was a good day. A very good day. One of the best, really.

Almost too good.

Too good to be true?

* * *

Ten year old Harry Potter opened his eyes to the underside of the steps. A spider hung from one of the higher ones, threatening to fall down onto his forehead. Shaking his head, he sleepily sat up.

_I just dreamt about my parents. _The realization hit him quickly. His tired eyes widened slightly.

_I just saw my mother in my mind. _He frowned. He had, hadn't he? And his father. They had talked about some weird word… Quidditch?

_What's Quidditch?_

_Kiddich?_

_Had something to do with my mother. _

He squinted, and winced as sharp steps sounded on the stairs above. They were his aunt's, he was sure of it. Her pointy shoes made clicking sounds on the wood, while the usually bare feet of his uncle and cousin made thumping sounds.

… Hadn't he been thinking about his mother?

_Must've been Dudley's mother_, Harry decided. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he stood up before Petunia could come and yell at him. He opened the door to his cupboard and left to go make breakfast.

Harry had forgotten about any strange thoughts or dreams by mid morning.


End file.
